


At Rest

by puppyblue



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Literal Sleeping Together, Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, Post-Dishonored (Video Game), Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic, Royal Spymaster Daud (Dishonored), Sharing a Bed, Sleep, everyone is exhausted including me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppyblue/pseuds/puppyblue
Summary: Corvo's perpetually tired and Daud's not too far behind, but sometimes sleep becomes a little bit easier to find when they're together.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Daud
Comments: 19
Kudos: 157





	At Rest

The first time it happens, it's almost alarming.

Corvo wakes up, which in itself is strange, because he doesn't entirely remember falling asleep. Further than that, he doesn't remember the last time sleep came easily, or stayed long. Just recognizing that he had _been_ asleep is enough to bring him distantly back to awareness, even as he recognizes the feel of the Tower around him.

It takes him a moment to place his surroundings, blurry as he feels. He's in the Spymaster's quarters— _Daud's_ quarters. The walls give it away immediately, papered with lists, maps, and sketches; nothing confidential, Daud always insists, and Corvo has yet to catch that as a lie.

They'd been talking, Corvo remembers, an entirely unremarkable conversation involving concerns about security for Emily's upcoming ball. For all that Daud has an office in the Tower as well, he rarely uses it, and Corvo often has to either chase him down through a chain of Whalers or corner him in his rooms. Given that Corvo usually has his own tasks to deal with during the day, he is now far more familiar with these quarters than he had been during Burrows' tenure of the position.

Still, he's never fallen asleep here before.

The armchair he's in is comfortable and familiar, the one he always wanders to when their talks go on long enough. There's a well-fed fire in the hearth to his right, a glow of settled heat along one half of his body, but the overall room is rather dim despite it, the air chilled and quiet in the way of very early morning. Corvo has to blink hard to shake off the spell that keeps trying to weave through him.

He can see Daud in his periphery, lounging in the chair across from his own, a pen in one hand and a stack of papers holding his attention. The soft scratching of the nib is just loud enough to fade in and out above the crackling of the fire. Corvo lets his heavy eyes rest unfocused on the sharp motions of Daud's wrist and fingers as he scribbles across the page; there's ink smeared on his fingers and he's squinting down at his work. He should light the lamps properly, Corvo thinks very distantly, or leave for a brighter room. It doesn't seem important enough to say aloud.

Daud seems to feel his attention, instincts still sharp despite his recent years in the Tower. His chin shifts, and when Corvo glances up he's being watched in turn, Daud's eyes reflecting the flickering fire in glints of light.

Corvo almost always gets the sense that Daud is balanced for a fight—even in moments like these, lounging relaxed with his sleeves rolled up and not a weapon in sight. It's there in the bunching muscles of his shoulders, the way he keeps his feet steady and squared on the floor. It'd used to bother him, Corvo thinks. It'd made him tense in return, waiting for Daud to _start_ the fight; they'd been at each other's throats more than a few times in the first long months of this arrangement, and he can admit that not all of it was Daud's doing.

He'd lost that instinct somewhere. He's not sure when it changed—certainly not when it changed enough for him to _fall asleep_ less than a few feet away—but whatever violence Daud's holding ready, Corvo no longer expects it to be turned on him.

"Go back to sleep, Corvo," Daud murmurs, and turns back to his writing.

His voice is even deeper than usual, the gravel accentuated by the quiet of the room, and maybe by the mostly empty glass on the low table between them. It curls warm in Corvo's ears, weighs down on his skin like a physical touch. He doesn't obey so much as he lets go, his eyelids ever-heavier and his thoughts distant, sinking slowly under the warmth of the fire and the soft noises of the room.

He wakes up again, properly, when dawn starts to peek through the uncovered windows. The fire next to him has been recently built up, and someone's draped a thick blanket over his legs to ward away the rest of the chill, but Daud's chair is empty, and Corvo can't hear anyone else nearby. He closes his eyes again for a long moment before forcing himself upright, stretching to chase away the almost unfamiliar heaviness of sleep.

There's a crick in Corvo's neck from the angle of his head and a low burn in his lower back from sleeping upright that might flare into something more later. It's still the best sleep he's had in months.

He leaves the blanket folded on the chair and slips out before he can give into the urge to sit back down.

* * *

Daud doesn't say anything about it. Corvo hadn't really expected him to; what it says about Corvo's own instincts might alarm him slightly, but otherwise it should have been an unremarkable incident, easily forgotten. And yet...

And yet.

Corvo's sleep has never been particularly deep, at least as far as he can remember. Perhaps in childhood, when his worries had been so much smaller in comparison, but somewhere along the way he'd lost the ease of it. Maybe once he'd trained himself for alertness, to give all his focus to protecting another; sleep had become a risk, then.

So falling asleep has long been a difficult process, his mind and senses constantly on edge for only occasional danger. And after Jessamine, after everything, _staying_ asleep has become even harder. Perhaps it only makes sense, really. Though Emily's reign has truly begun to settle into itself now, the risks are still there, and Corvo has already paid the price for failure once.

The fact that Daud had been the one to exact that price is not an insignificant thought among the rest of them. It makes Corvo very aware of every interaction between them for a few days: every smile or incidental touch, every moment of ease. How many times their discussions wander into _conversation._ It happens far more often than he'd realized.

It feels like something he should fight, now that he's consciously noticed it—allowing Daud's presence for his usefulness is one thing, but for _friendship?_ That should be quite another. But it would take effort to distance himself without damaging their personal rapport as well, and _that_ took long enough to form that he's not willing to risk it.

(And there are other truths to the matter, like the fact that his true allies are few, and his friends even fewer. He's not yet certain if he should describe Daud as a friend, but the fact that he has to think about it probably says enough.)

So he does nothing, lets them continue as they are. He still chases Daud down in his quarters as often as the need arises. Given that _both_ of them don't sleep as often as they should, it happens more during the night than the day, and with Corvo's new awareness it's impossible to ignore how Daud's quarters feel as safe to him as his own. Maybe even safer. Certainly _warmer,_ for all that Corvo's rooms have a hearth as well. Something about another body in the room, maybe.

Corvo keeps an eye on himself for a while, doesn't let himself linger when the tiredness in his bones urges him to stay seated. He's not foolish enough to think Daud doesn't notice, but he says nothing about that either.

But it isn't something he has the energy to maintain. Even with Daud and his Whalers now adeptly handling the Spymaster's duties, Corvo has more than enough on his plate as Emily's Protector. And Emily, for all that she technically holds the throne, is still neither old enough nor experienced enough to actually run the Empire herself, which leaves several of her duties in Corvo's hands as well. He has enough work, enough worries, that watching his decorum in one of the few places where he isn't _required_ to weighs on him far more than it should.

So he lets himself relax—and of course it happens again.

Daud's the one that wakes him this time. Not intentionally, that much is clear; it's movement nearby that brings Corvo back, the slightest weight against his legs. He recognizes the soft, heavy feeling of a blanket falling over his lap before he cracks his eyes open in time to see Daud drape the end of it over his hip.

Daud's face is mostly in shadow, backlit by the fire behind him as he reaches to tug Corvo's glass, thankfully kept steady on the wide arm of the chair, away from his hand. Corvo lets his fingers curl in at the absence, the faintest realization that he should leave starting to surface, and Daud's shadowed eyes flick up to meet his at the movement.

But Daud doesn't say anything; he just watches for a moment and then steps away, swapping Corvo's glass from one hand to the other. He lets the fingers of his empty hand drag very lightly over Corvo's forearm as he walks, brushing wrist to elbow, and then he is behind the chair and out of Corvo's sight, footsteps silent on the carpeted floor.

Corvo lets his gaze drop to the fire instead, trying halfheartedly to remind himself of his own objections to the whole situation. But he has learned Daud well enough to recognize the meaning in that one small touch, and with Daud's clear, unbothered acceptance of his presence, the lingering urge to retreat slowly gutters and dies.

He stays awake long enough to hear Daud return to his own chair, and then he doesn't wake up again until morning.

* * *

It's _...something._

He can't say it's a habit, exactly. It's not something he regularly seeks out. Daud never directly brings it up, and so Corvo doesn't either. But on the longest nights, if he finds himself in Daud's company after the days have worn him down to raw nerves or stumbling exhaustion, he lets the tiredness in his bones weigh him down in place and takes what peace he can find.

Daud's movements stop waking him up at all, those nights, which is equal parts terrifying and liberating. He'll wake up most mornings to find Daud either gone entirely or still seated across from him, working away at whatever project has his attention or very occasionally dozing, eyes lidded as he watches the fire. Daud never acts as though there's anything odd about the arrangement at all, and so Corvo follows his lead.

He never catches Daud actually sleeping in any of those moments. He knows that Daud must—that whatever the rumors, the Outsider's Mark doesn't remove them from their human needs. Often in those mornings he'll see Daud's hair mussed, or his clothes changed out, and Corvo has seen his bed rumpled with use just in passing. But he thinks it must be catnaps at best, after all the hours they have spent together.

Maybe that explains why Daud doesn't feel the need to discuss it. Maybe he understands the exhaustion more personally than Corvo would have liked.

So Corvo returns the favor: doesn't bring it up, doesn't fuss, since he knows of nothing that would drive Daud away faster. He's rewarded for it weeks later when Daud ends up in _his_ rooms instead.

It's not that it's never happened before; their jobs are closely intertwined, and any overnight emergencies or concerns usually bring Daud to his door anyway. But this latest visit is calmer than the rest—the aftermath of an escalating week of written threats, delivered each day like clockwork to areas of the Tower they never should have been able to reach. It'd taken Daud and his Whalers four days to find the culprits, which isn't that long at all with the lack of information they'd had to work with, but each day had weighed heavier and heavier on them both.

So maybe it isn't surprising that, after _dealing_ with the issue and setting Whalers to sniff out any remnants that might have escaped, Daud comes to find him instead. It will be a while before Corvo feels comfortable wandering too far from Emily's company again. He won't push to stay in her room while she sleeps, not after the many arguments they've had about it, but at least his quarters are right next door. And Daud, for all that he doesn't visit as often as Corvo does the reverse, just wanders in after him and makes himself at home, sprawling out in Corvo's armchairs instead.

He knows better than to offer drinks at a time like this and brings cigars instead. Corvo, for all that any indulgence feels like a dangerous distraction at the moment, takes one after a few minutes of coaxing and lets it unwind a smidgen of tension from his shoulders, lets Daud fill him in on the last bit of clean-up that the Whalers have been running through.

"They'll be wanting a bonus, after all this," Daud acknowledges once he's finished, breathing out one last plume of smoke and crushing the end of his cigar in a tray. "Can't say they haven't earned it either, really."

"Whatever you think is appropriate," Corvo agrees, watching the last of the smoke dissipate. Daud tends more towards cigarettes himself, he remembers that much; this little encounter has been catered entirely to Corvo's preferences, and he doesn't know how to bring it up without making a fool of himself.

He turns to the fire instead, taking a few more pulls of his own cigar. He does his best to sink into the warmth of it, though he doesn't think he'll truly be able to sleep tonight, not with nearly a week's worth of nerves still buzzing in his veins. He'll ask Daud for a spar tomorrow just to work out some of it.

He turns to Daud to suggest it, and then closes his mouth tightly when he finds Daud's eyes closed.

He has his head back against the head of the chair, eyebrows crinkled just enough that Corvo knows he isn't quite asleep, not yet. But his breathing is deep and even, arms relaxed against the side of the chair and tucked over his stomach. He might only be resting his eyes for a moment, but Corvo knows from experience just how easy it is to lose track of time, doing that.

He turns back to the fire, finishing his cigar and counting the slow swell of Daud's breaths out of the corner of his eye. Corvo had been shut away in the Tower with Emily these past few days, but he knows that in between updates, Daud had been out there on the streets and rooftops with the rest of his men, hunting.

He has learned to trust Daud's commitment after this long, but seeing the _evidence_ of his effort in Emily's defense: exhaustion enough to tip him over the edge, and that he chose to risk it doing so in Corvo's company…

_Not the time,_ he reminds himself as that indefinable feeling glows tentative and soft under his ribs. Not the time or place or _person,_ really, but he can't really say he's surprised. This is not so unfamiliar a situation, at its core.

He doesn't catch the moment when Daud tips over into true sleep; he just knows that next time he looks over, Daud's brows have smoothed out and his jaw has unclenched. His feet are still planted, his shoulders only slightly slumped, but by Daud's standards he looks ridiculously unguarded, in a way that makes Corvo want to hold very still to avoid any risk of waking him up.

Corvo might be able to get close without waking him, but getting a blanket over him seems like a risk too far. Daud's still in his coat anyway, if unbuttoned, and so Corvo just goes to build up the fire instead. He keeps his moments quiet, but efficient; he gets the feeling that creeping around will wake Daud up faster than anything else.

Then he settles back into his own chair, ready to see the night through for both Emily and Daud. Daud doesn't need his protection, not the way Emily does, but if Corvo can offer him something he needs, either company or comfort, then he will.

Daud's done it often enough for him, after all.

* * *

The Fugue Feast that year is horrible.

Well, it's always horrible, at least from a security perspective, although they have a routine set up as safely as they can. The rest of the city likely thinks that the Empress hunkers down each year behind the Tower's defenses, but even there, there are too many variables to trust. Servants and guards can be bought, after all.

So Corvo keeps them to Jessamine's previous preference, bringing Emily out to the countryside for the duration with the smallest, most trustworthy entourage he can manage. And to be fair, they have no trouble during the Feast itself—it's the ambush when they return that ruins the trip.

Corvo deals with it, of course he does, but it's the betrayal that scores into him like thorns. His attention immediately turns to weeding it out.

He doesn't consider Daud a candidate for more than a moment. If, for some unknown reason, Daud had decided to renege on his word and his years of service, he would at least have done the deed himself. He lets Daud root through his own people and turns his focus on the Tower.

Certain sections of the Tower Watch have access to the Empress' travel routes, in order to clear the way of any incidents ahead of time. That, as it turns out, is their weak spot—a young guardsman named Jameson, promising, but new. He cracks almost the moment they track him down and confront him.

Only it's not as simple as disgruntlement. Corvo wishes it had been. It's a kidnapped son instead, Jameson's youngest held as collateral. He cannot give them much on the perpetrators, but it's enough to put the Whalers to work, and to keep his own head.

It takes nearly two weeks to sort the whole mess out, at least to the point where Corvo is willing to relax the number of guards following Emily's every move, and loses the urge to draw his sword at every sudden movement. It's a long two weeks for _all_ of them, and when they finally have the last of the traitors rounded up, Corvo feels like he's been wrung out of every spark that's kept him going, rage or otherwise.

He stumbles on his way up the stairs that night, his vision blurring, and then nearly topples himself backwards when someone startles him by grabbing him under the arm.

"Watch it," Daud grumbles at him. "If you die walking up the stairs, I'm putting it on your tombstone."

Corvo snorts, because he's reached the point where everything's a little bit funny whether it was meant to be or not. Then he notices that Daud's steering him towards the Spymaster's quarters, not Corvo's.

"Did something happen?" he asks after a moment to think it through. He knows Daud enjoys his company by now, but he doesn't usually insist on it.

"No," Daud says, which is as much as relief as it is confusing. "No trouble, no news, and I've set four of my best to act as backup for the Empress' guard. Anything that happens will keep until morning."

Corvo frowns at him. He appreciates the reassurance and the extra security, but that Daud had taken those measures suggests _something_ going on. "Then—"

"You're going to _sleep,"_ Daud tells him firmly, like it's a _fact,_ inevitable. Corvo blinks.

"My bed is that way," he points out, more for argument's sake than because he truly wants to leave. Daud just gives him an unimpressed look.

"So you can wake up every time she so much as sniffles?"

Corvo opens his mouth to argue, then closes it without saying anything. He hasn't been quite _that_ bad, but he can admit that he's been on something of a hair trigger lately, with good reason. Then they've reached Daud's quarters and he doesn't really have the energy or desire to argue it anyway.

"Coat off," Daud tells him, already slipping out of his own. "Boots, too."

Corvo's entire body feels thick and heavy, and he fumbles with his own buttons, but he still finds the energy to smile at the whole situation. "You know, if you just wanted to get me out of my clothes, all you had to do—"

Daud's coat hits him square in the face and Corvo laughs aloud for the first time in weeks, the feeling loosening something in his chest.

It takes Corvo far longer than it should to get out of his boots, and with only a little prodding Daud bullies him down to his undershirt too. Maybe that should have warned him, but he still balks in surprise when Daud herds him over to the bed instead of towards the hearth. "Daud—"

"I think we can drop the pretext at this point, don't you?" Daud's tone is blunt, but not mocking. Corvo still feels his neck flush, footing knocked askew at the sudden acknowledgement of the thing they've both been ignoring.

"There's no need for me to take over your bed," he protests instead of addressing that. "Mine's perfectly fine."

"I'll be up anyway," Daud dismisses, as though the shadows under his eyes aren't just as dark as Corvo's, his movements just as stiff. Corvo's probably stepping somewhere he shouldn't, but it only takes him a moment to make the decision.

"You should sleep, too. You've been working just as hard as I have. Maybe more so," he points out, because it's true. Corvo's main focus these past few weeks has been Emily; once again, it's been Daud and his network doing the lion's share of the hunting. Daud looks set to argue and so Corvo takes his wrist, silencing him long enough to point out, "As you said, anything else will keep until morning."

To his surprise, Daud hesitates instead of snapping, an odd twist to his mouth. Corvo decides not to give him time to make excuses.

"At least try. Just rest for a while," he suggests quietly and then, when Daud looks unconvinced, he admits before he can second-guess the words, "It's easier for me when you're nearby."

Daud's eyes flick up to meet his, but Corvo holds fast. He'd meant the words mostly as bait, because he knows Daud is far more likely to do it for him than his own sake, but that doesn't change the fact that it's _true,_ and it feels like he's bared a soft, vulnerable spot by saying so out loud.

But it works. Daud heaves a sigh and grumbles under his breath, but waves Corvo to one side of the bed and then sits on the other, tugging at his shirt and then undoing his own boots. Corvo burrows into the blankets on the other side immediately, and the moment he's horizontal it feels like his eyelids start trying to slide shut without permission.

The sheets smell clean, freshly laundered, but there's still a lingering scent to them; he can't say he knows Daud's scent by heart, but he has to guess that's what it is. He lets his head rest heavy on a pillow, watching absently as Daud stands to extinguish most of the lamps, too far gone to feel self-conscious when Daud finally slides under the covers to join him.

There's enough room for both of them, but not all that much space between them, breaths mingling and the bed warming quickly. Corvo thinks about turning onto his back to give the illusion of distance, but Daud doesn't seem to care and so he doesn't bother. He can only hope Daud isn't the sort to wake up swinging if they bump into each other during the night

" _Sleep,_ Corvo," Daud reminds him, voice rumbling low, eyes half mast himself. Corvo blinks hard a few times under that patient stare before finally giving up the fight, letting his eyes slide closed without fighting to open them again.

He counts three breaths before he's gone.

* * *

Corvo wakes up groggy, his head thick and aching—weeks of too little sleep makes a full night's worth feel like almost too much, but he knows he'll feel better if he rises to shake it off. He doesn't, though. There's a weight along one of his forearms and warmth breath brushing rhythmically over his forehead, and the unfamiliarity of it keeps him lying still.

He opens his eyes slowly.

They haven't ended up completely pressed together, for which Corvo can only be grateful, but he and Daud had still migrated together in sleep. Daud has almost curled around him, nose nearly pressed to Corvo's hair, and one of his hands has come to rest over Corvo's forearm between their bodies, a small, lingering point of heat. The whole bed is warm, actually, a deep, settled glow. Corvo had forgotten the feel of a second body in the bed.

To think of Jessamine now is a unique kind of discomfort, for all that it's not the first time he's wrestled with himself over it. He turns his gaze towards the door, considering.

But no. There's no way he'll be able to extract himself without waking Daud in the process, and he's surprised enough that Daud had stayed, much less slept. What good would it really do either of them, for him to shy away now just on the principle of the matter?

He sighs. His body is the kind of heavy that threatens to draw him right back down, and the room is still dim and grey. Either it's early in the morning or the morning itself is dark with clouds, but neither option encourages alertness. The only thing he can't ignore today is Emily and he has at least learned to trust that, between her guards and Daud's people, she'll manage to last the morning without him.

His eyes turn back to Daud's face instead. He hasn't shaved in awhile by the looks of him, stubble almost starting to form into an actual beard. His brow is furrowed a little, jaw set like he's ready to fight even in his sleep, but his head is tucked gracelessly down into a pillow and he's also snoring slightly, a catch right at the end of each inhale.

Corvo's hand twitches with the sudden urge to brush over the hinge of his jaw, to try and coax that clench into something more relaxed. He doesn't quash the urge so much as set it aside.

Even curled around each other, that desire somehow feels like overstepping, but he also gets the feeling that this won't be the only chance he has to do so. He doesn't want to assume anything, of course, but Daud has matched Corvo every step of the way in this, and he'd been the one to push them a step further to where they are now.

There's something here. Something they could _build_ here together, if they were both of a mind for it.

But Daud is asleep now, and Corvo isn't willing to break that rare spell. For this, Corvo can wait. The chance will still be there when they both wake.

He closes his eyes and lets the rhythm of Daud's breathing lull him back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend, with the basic parameters just being 'bedsharing,' and it helped keep me writing when writing hasn't been coming all that easy lately. Back to wrestling with Eyes Turned Skyward after this.


End file.
